I was in the middle of a secured tribute-ledger call with several silent partners when my high school class group, which had been dead silent for a decade, suddenly exploded with notifications.

[Bianca, did you see Serafina's post? She's getting married today! Are you really not coming?]

As the messages flooded in, I realized that Serafina Caruso, the prom queen of our Catholic prep school, was tying the knot.

All our old classmates were attending.

I replied, trying to keep it professional: [Sorry, I'm swamped with work at the moment.]

But the responses were swift and brutal.

[What could you possibly be busy with? Someone who hasn't posted in a hundred years must be doing pretty poorly!]

[Seriously, just admit you're embarrassed and stop pretending to be so busy.]

Serafina chimed in herself: [Remember our bet? I always said I'd marry someone better than you!]

I shot back: [Can't say I recall that.]

Immediately, others jumped in.

[Serafina's husband is the Don of a whole syndicate! They even sent over a hundred armored cars to pick her up today!]

[Sounds like you're worried about how your life compares, so you're pretending to forget!]

[Maybe you're so broke you can't even afford a wedding gift? Why not start a crowdfunding campaign to help you chip in?]

Under the barrage of comments, Serafina tagged me again, putting on a show of graciousness.

[I really hope you can make it to my wedding to witness my happy moment! Since we're classmates, I'll have my husband arrange a cleaning job for you.]

With that, she posted a stunning photo of herself and her husband in formal wedding attire, posed on the steps of a cathedral.

My jaw dropped when I saw her husband's face.

That was Damian Vescari. My husband, who had married into the Bellandi Family.

[Sure, I'll definitely come to witness your happiness!] I typed back, my fingers shaking slightly.

——

Serafina's words instantly sent ripples through the crowd, leaving everyone staring at us with widened eyes and disbelief written all over their faces. The atmosphere, which had been filled with excitement moments ago, shifted into something tense and electric.

"Serafina, is that car really your husband's? No way!" one classmate blurted out, clearly stunned.

Serafina lifted her chin proudly, her posture straightening as if she had been waiting for this exact moment to prove herself. "Of course it's real," she said without hesitation, her tone firm and confident. "Why would I lie about something like that?" Then, as if to cement her claim, she pulled out her phone and began scrolling through her photos with deliberate slowness.

Soon, she held up the screen for everyone to see. The images were intimate and unmistakable. There were photos of her leaning against Damian in the armored town car, the two of them pressed close together, and others of them lounging on the hood, laughing and looking entirely at ease. The interior details of the car and the plate were crystal clear, leaving no room for doubt.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd. "Holy crap, that really is Serafina's husband's car!" someone exclaimed. Another voice followed immediately, louder and sharper, "Then that means Bianca must be the goomah!"

Serafina's face darkened, her lips curling into a cold, scornful smile as her brows drew together. "No wonder you've kept such a low profile all these years," she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. "Turns out you've just been hiding in the shadows, playing the side piece this whole time."

At her words, all eyes turned toward me. The looks they gave me were no longer curious or indifferent. They were filled with shock, judgment, and unmistakable disdain, as if I had suddenly become something filthy in their eyes.

"I can't believe this," one person muttered, shaking their head. "Bianca always looked so put together, so elegant. And all this time, she's been sneaking around as someone's goomah?"

"Exactly! I used to think she was this untouchable, straight-A student back in school," another chimed in bitterly. "I even wrote her a love letter once. Now it just feels disgusting thinking about it."

"Some people really know how to pretend," someone else added mockingly. "They act all innocent on the outside, but behind the scenes, they're desperate the moment they see a powerful man."

"And look at her now, driving the man's car right in front of the real wife," another voice scoffed. "She must be jealous that Serafina is the one getting married, so she came here to stir up trouble."

Even Teresa looked at me differently now. The warmth she had shown Serafina was nowhere to be found. Instead, her gaze was cold and filled with contempt. Her thumb rubbed against the side of her forefinger, quick, rhythmic, like she was brushing away invisible chalk dust. "Bianca," she said sharply, her tone laced with disdain, "when you're out in public, please don't mention that you were ever my student. I never taught anyone with such a lack of morals."

The murmurs around me quickly escalated into a chaotic frenzy. More and more people were drawn in by the commotion, gathering around us to watch the unfolding spectacle. Some pointed fingers openly, whispering among themselves, while others took out their phones and began recording without any hesitation. A few even spat in my direction, their disgust unrestrained.

My thumb found the jagged edge of my Blackwood's cross beneath my collar. I held it there, pressing the rough metal into skin, and let them talk.

A surge of anger rose within me, sharp and undeniable. Without thinking, I tore off my designer coat, the one worth tens of thousands of laundered dollars, and flung it straight into a nearby trash can. The movement was abrupt, decisive. Then I stepped forward, locking my gaze onto Serafina, my voice steady despite everything.

"You should really ask Damian who the real goomah is," I said coldly, each word clear and firm, "before you start throwing accusations around like that."

The moment the words left my mouth, Serafina's expression twisted with rage. Without hesitation, she raised her hand and struck me hard across the face. The impact rang out loudly, echoing through the crowd. Two of her escort soldiers shifted but didn't intervene. They had their orders.

"Do you even need to ask?" she snapped, her voice trembling with fury. "Today is my wedding day with Damian! Isn't that obvious enough for you?"

Her anger only grew as she pointed toward my car, her voice rising higher. "I hate goomahs. Every single one of them deserves to be punished!"

Before anyone could react, she pulled out a key and viciously dragged it across the surface of my armored town car. The harsh scratching sound cut through the air as the words "Goomah, die!" were carved into the paint. One of the valets near the cathedral steps looked away. Nobody moved to stop her.

I stared at the jagged letters etched across the glossy surface, a chill creeping down my spine. For a brief moment, everything felt strangely distant. Then I looked up at her again, my voice calm but carrying an edge. "You'll soon realize just how ironic those words are."

Her fury only intensified at my response. "You shameless woman!" she screamed. "You steal my husband and then dare to mock me?"

Her eyes flicked toward the car again, her expression turning almost nauseated. "Just thinking about my husband's car being touched by someone like you makes me sick!"

Without another word, she bent down, grabbed a brick from the ground, and began smashing it against my car. The first strike shattered the window, glass scattering everywhere. Then came the headlights, the hood, every part she could reach. She showed no restraint, no hesitation. Her dress smoothed under one frantic palm between strikes, but she didn't stop.

"Serafina is going to be the donna of the entire Vescari operation!" someone in the crowd shouted excitedly. "We can't let her be disrespected by someone like Bianca!"

As if that single sentence gave them permission, the crowd surged forward. People picked up whatever they could find: stones, sticks, even metal rods, and joined in the destruction. The sound of smashing glass and tearing metal filled the air. After breaking the windows, some of them even climbed inside, ripping apart the seats and wrecking the interior with wild abandon. The cathedral security detail watched from the steps and did nothing. In this neighborhood, the guest list was the law.

In a matter of moments, my pristine town car was reduced to a mangled wreck.

I stood there, watching them with a cold, unblinking gaze. There was no panic, no pleading. Only a quiet, chilling calm. My thumb found the jagged edge of my Blackwood's cross beneath my collar, pressing hard enough to feel the metal bite. "I hope when it's time for you to pay for all of this," I said slowly, "you'll still be this enthusiastic about taking responsibility."

But my words meant nothing to them. It was as if I didn't exist at all.

At that moment, one of Serafina's lackeys pried open the trunk and suddenly shouted, "Hey! Look at this! She's got a bunch of expensive stuff hidden in here!"

Serafina immediately walked over, curiosity flashing in her eyes. She reached inside and pulled out a painting, examining it briefly before letting out a mocking laugh. "A woman who sells herself trying to act like a collector?" she sneered. "Give me a break."

I couldn't help but speak, my tone low but firm. "Those items are worth far more than the car. Especially that painting. You'd better be careful."

The contents of my trunk were carefully selected pieces I had acquired at private auctions through the Family's art-laundering channels, items I hadn't yet had the chance to display at the estate. Each one was valuable beyond measure.

But my warning only seemed to provoke her further.

"It's an insult for something like you to own a masterpiece!" Serafina snapped, her face twisting with disdain. "Trash like you should only have trash!"

Before I could react, she tore the painting apart right in front of me, ripping it into pieces without the slightest hesitation. Then she threw the shredded fragments to the ground and stomped on them repeatedly, her expression filled with vicious satisfaction.

Teresa, who had been watching from the side, suddenly gasped as she leaned closer to the ruined pieces. Her thumb rubbed quick and nervous against the side of her forefinger. "That painting... it's an original from a master," she said, her voice shaking. "I heard it started at a three-hundred-million-dollar auction."

Serafina didn't even flinch. She simply shrugged, completely unconcerned. "So what if it's worth three hundred million?" she said dismissively. "That's still my husband's money."

She crossed her arms, her tone arrogant and absolute. "And what belongs to him belongs to me. I can do whatever I want with my own things."

Her words were so absurd that for a moment, I didn't even know how to respond.

Damian, the man they all worshipped as some powerful Don, was nothing more than an opportunist with no real foundation. Even after being given control of the Bellandi operations, he had managed to bleed nearly half the value from the Family's legitimate fronts through sheer incompetence. If not for certain constraints my Bellandi had imposed, I would have had him stripped of his crew long ago.

Yet in their eyes, he was a figure to admire, someone worth envying.

With Serafina taking the lead, the others eagerly followed, tearing through the remaining contents of my trunk, destroying everything they could get their hands on. Laundered collectibles, church gifts meant for display in the compound's private gallery, pieces that had passed through three intermediaries before reaching me. Watching them descend into such madness, I realized there was no point in trying to stop them.

Silently, I took out my phone and prepared to call the police.

But before I could even dial, Serafina suddenly lunged at me, snatching the phone from my hand and smashing it onto the ground with force. The screen shattered instantly.

"Calling the cops now?" she scoffed, glaring at me. "You shameless goomah. What right do you have?"

Her gaze then shifted downward, landing on the pendant around my neck. The cross my Blackwood had carried back from her pilgrimage. Serafina's eyes lit up with interest, a greedy glint flashing across them. "That necklace looks expensive," she said slowly. "Did you buy it with my husband's money too?"

Before I could react, she reached out and yanked the necklace off my neck with brutal force.

The sudden pain caught me off guard. My breath hitched as I instinctively reached for it, my face paling. "Give it back!" I shouted, my voice sharp with urgency.

My thumb found nothing where the jagged edge of the cross should have been. Just bare skin, and a rawness at my throat where the chain had torn free.

Seeing the panic flash across my face, Serafina's lips curled into a slow, satisfied smirk. Her eyes gleamed with unmistakable malice, as if she had finally found the reaction she'd been waiting for.

"Getting nervous now, are we?" she mocked, lifting the necklace slightly as it dangled from her fingers. "This must be worth quite a lot, huh?"

A surge of urgency and desperation rushed through me, tightening my chest. I shook my head immediately, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay composed.

"It's not about the money," I said quickly, my eyes fixed on the necklace in her hand. "It's important to me. Just give it back."

Without thinking, I stepped forward and reached out, trying to snatch it from her grasp. My movements were instinctive, driven by something far deeper than reason.